Drowning
by NorthernTrash-x
Summary: Ran/Yoru. In those sad, strange, beautiful eyes he was slowly dying, but in their warmth he could only see that there is a joy in drowning himself in Ran.


Ran x Yoru

**Drowning**

_When did you fall from grace?  
You've got a dirty face, and it's killing me.  
Why don't you listen? Why don't you listen to me?  
I'm drowning but I never felt so free  
_- The Goo Goo Dolls

I wind my hands into his long, long hair and fist them tight, pulling his head upwards to kiss him on the mouth, deep and heated and full of a longing that I know will soon be fulfilled. He eyes slide shut, but I keep mine wide so I can see the intricate delicacy of the blue veins I can see on them.

I let go, and he falls back against the pillow, watching me intently.

I'm the sinner. Out of the two of us, I am so clearly the sinner. I provoke the rage, the pain, the hell without the comfort to repay it with. Cold and calculative, a flicker in the eye. For sins of the flesh, I tainted him first, ruining him perhaps, taking his innocence and all that came with it, breaking him apart and then building him back up into something woven into me that neither of us could escape from even if we wanted to, which neither of us do.

He is something else, something wonderful, something more than I deserve after everything that I have seen and done, something that is more beautiful than I had ever dreamed of having after the nightmares and darkness of the past.

I stare down at the pale body underneath my own, lithe and writhing in the moonlight that slants through the window. His skin looks so pure, so perfect, so wonderful that I stop momentarily to take in the near-white expanse, so soft, so clear.

His head is back, his neck bare except for the adornment of a dark red mark near the collar bone, and I can see the beat of his pulse as his heartbeat speeds up, faster, faster.

He looks like the divine, like something delivered to me from heaven that I never thought possible. Untainted. Innoce-

Ahh…

He smirks up at me, wanted to see my face as he wrapped his legs around my hips, pressing our bodies together, creating a friction that he knows all to well I can not deny. Not that I would really want to.

"What are you thinking?"

"How beautiful you look."

"Stop thinking. Fuck me instead."

"You've got a dirty little mouth, haven't you?"

A smirk.

"That's not all."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls himself up, burying his face in my neck and biting down to re-focus my attention, making me simultaneously smile faintly as I grow even harder as our bodies press closer together.

"Fuck…"

"Me?"

I smile properly this time.

"You don't have to ask me twice."

He falls back against the pillows, languid and yet anticipating, releasing me from the surprisingly strong hold of his legs so that I can kiss my way down his body to his hips, taking my time in a strange kind of retribution for his earlier comments, despite the fact that I did not dislike them. Who said sex had to be logical?

I ease myself into him. This could have been the hundredth time, the thousandth time, or even the first time, because each time only gets better, never worse, always stronger and more passionate and more perfect than the last time.

He catches my chin, raising himself up on his elbow, leverage so that he can kiss me on the mouth, his eyes open to stare deeply into my own, trying to trace the emotions running riot in them.

"Move."

I begin to, rocking backwards and forwards on his hips as he throw his head back, panting with exultation yet to come. I could mirror his movements myself, I know them so well, but then what would be the point in that? The rise and fall of his chest is emphasised by the shadows made by the messed up bed sheets.

"Oh… Yoru…"

Afterwards we lie together as we always do, his back pressed against my front, my arms around him and his own arms hooked around mine, and I wonder, not for the first time, if I am dying, because it seems likely. There is something so unrealistically idyllic about this scene, about the strange piece of perfection we have carved out of the fractured mess of our lives, like something from a tragic love story with a painfully inevitable ending.

"Ran…"

"Yeah?"

"D'you ever wonder when the end will come?"

He turns to face me, staring, a little bemused.

"What do you mean?"

"This feels too good to be true."

"So you think that means that it is going to end?"

"The best things never come for free."

"Our past pays for our pleasure now."

"Perhaps not. I could suffer much more pain for a single night with you. It doesn't seem like a fair trade."

"I doubt that that is true."

"About the trade or about you?"

"Both."

His eyes sparkle in the darkness.

"Have faith."

"In what?"

His fingertips caress my cheek briefly, softly cool in the warmth of the night.

"Look into my eyes."

I stare into them as I am told, ever the willing servant, and I realise that I am sinking into him, deeper and deeper. Each day I am pulled further down into the welcoming darkness of his depth, each moment it becomes more and more helpless to struggle against the current that drags me away from the shore. I am enveloped in him, surrounded by him, held in a strange harmony by what I share with him.

In him I see everything that terrifies me and everything that saves me.

I should not be at peace, because in those sad, strange, beautiful eyes I am slowly dying, but in their warmth I can only see that there is a joy in drowning, something that I cannot even contemplate seeing anywhere else.

"I am not going anywhere."

I pull him against me and feel my soul sinking deep down into his body, forever a slave to him.

"I know."


End file.
